


je t'aime... moi non plus

by weatheredlaw



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake Marriage, France (Country), Incest, Marriage, Parent/Child Incest, Paris (City), Partners to Lovers, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We've destroyed so much. It's time us DeWitts started behaving." </p><p>Of course he picks this moment to kiss her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	je t'aime... moi non plus

**Author's Note:**

> for my new friend @sansastarks on twitter who posted this and i replied "ill write this"
> 
> “@housestarks: @tullyrobb @sansastarking [14/04/2014 23:15:10] carina: booker and elizabeth need to get married in paris”

They arrive in Paris, destruction in their wake. The airship remains abandoned in a field, and Booker is their only save grace when they need to escape, grabbing Elizabeth's wrist and pulling her into the woods for cover while a handful of people flood into the field, inspecting the crash. He turns to her, taking her face in his hands and looking into her eyes.

"We need money, clothes, and food. I'm going to get these things, no matter what it takes, because I'm _getting you to Paris_ , no matter what it takes. Understood?" She nods wordlessly and Booker presses his lips to her forehead. It's a sudden motion and it makes her gasp out loud, clutching his arms tight in her hands. She doesn't know if he notices, but he pulls her away from the field and onto a road, heading toward a town just over the hill. In the distance, she sees her city, closer now than it's ever been, and something blooms deep inside her.

She takes Booker's hand, and he doesn't pull away.

 

 

 

Elizabeth doesn't say a word about the stealing. They need to blend as well as they possibly can. She acquires two dresses, a leather suitcase, and a small purse of money from Booker's machinations, and when they arrive in Paris they're significantly better dressed than when they left Columbia. Booker's hand is healing fine. 

They don't smell like blood and gunpowder anymore, though Elizabeth was just starting to get used to the stench.

Booker's French is Canadian, mostly, but the locals don't seem bothered, really, and he uses the money to get them a flat and puts Elizabeth to work with the landlady that evening. 

"You didn't ask," she huffs quietly, slouching in the only armchair the room has. "I could have gotten my own job."

"You working for her is the reason we got this place. We need to survive here, not just live. I'll go and get work tomorrow." He finishes unpacking what little clothes they have and sets the suitcase in the closet. "Here." He hands her a burlap sack. Elizabeth opens it and pulls out a baguette, some cheese and apples. "Dinner." 

" _Magnifique._ "

 

 

 

"Your husband," the landlady says in her heavily accented English. Her name is Madame Fabre and she's a sturdy woman who makes Elizabeth work hard, but fair. "He was smart to give me you." 

"My..." Elizabeth falters for a moment cleaning a heavy copper pot. She almost says that it's not true, they're not married. But she doesn't know if Booker told her they were, or if the woman is simply assuming. And if Booker said they were, there must have been a reason, though he would have told her, Elizabeth thinks. Only thinks. Sometimes she still isn't sure if Booker will ever be completely honest with her. Even now. 

"I didn't," he says gruffly at dinner later that night. "But it might be better that she thinks that." 

"You didn't tell her the truth then?"

Booker glances at her. "What's the truth?"

" _Booker._ "

He sets his spoon down and scrubs a hand over his face. "You're not my daughter any more than I'm a good man, Elizabeth."

"You're a good man," she murmurs. He laughs.

"Maybe you were my daughter, once. But that was a long time ago." He looks at her again. "We were both different people." 

"Different time," Elizabeth agrees. 

"I could tell her that, if you'd like."

Elizabeth shakes her head, more quickly opposed to that than she thought she might be. "No, it's fine. The other story is...it's just fine." Booker raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. He's taken to simply letting her talk these days, offering up no real answer in response, unless she is desperate for it.

Later, she changes for bed and watches him sit purposefully facing the other way, his head poking around the curtain covering their tiny window. They have a terrible view of another brick wall, but it doesn't bother Elizabeth. She stands at the end of the bed, her arms folded over her chest, and says very quietly: "You could come to bed with me, Booker."

He looks at her, and she's surprised to see him smile. "No, that's quite alright."

"I'm serious."

"And so am I." He stands and grabs his cigarettes before pressing a kiss to her temple. "I've got a nightshift anyway, you know that."

"So, rain check?"

He sighs. "Sure. Rain check."

 

 

 

Madame Fabre wonders why Elizabeth wears no ring and Elizabeth says sadly, " _Argent_." The woman nods.

"Hard to come by." Elizabeth nods. "Small wedding?"

"No wedding," she says. "We're married only in...in spirit? Unofficial. He is my husband but--"

"Ah. But the fees." 

"Yes. The fees."

Always a fee. Even for a marriage she doesn't own. Elizabeth works the rest of the day in silence. When she unties her apron, Madame Fabre hands her a bit of extra money. Elizabeth opens her mouth to protest, but she shushes her. " _Non._ There is a man. His prices are fair. He will marry you if I go to him and ask."

"Madame, _please_ , you've done so much--"

"Do you love him?"

Elizabeth drops her gaze. " _Oui._ " 

"Then you will marry him." She kisses the top of Elizabeth's hand. " _Dieu vous benisse et vous garde._ " 

 

 

 

Elizabeth doesn't tell Booker about the money at first. His reluctance to sleep in the same bed is challenge enough. When she finally gets him there, he remains resolutely positioned on the opposite side, though he's a messy sleeper and always ends up inches from her face, snoring lightly, fingers brushing her hand. She never lets him find them that way. 

But Madame Fabre says odd things to them in passing that she can't cover up when they go out together, and eventually he figures it out. 

"So the old lady's tryin' to get us hitched." Elizabeth nods, sipping her tea. "Must be some kind of law against that, don't you think?"

"Against meddling old women? Booker."

"Well, I suppose she doesn't know what we are." 

Elizabeth frowns. "Do you, Mr. DeWitt?" He glances at her, choosing silence once more over speech. She sighs. "She's been giving me more money to pay for it. I've been putting it away, in case times get tough."

"She might get suspicious if we don't follow through," Booker murmurs. "A man and woman shack up together, married in 'spirit.' Just doesn't sit right with these old fashioned Christian ladies."

"Are you suggesting--"

"I could probably take that money, get something decent forged for us."

"Oh." Her disappointment must be evident because Booker gets strange and quiet for a long while, watching her as she eats her breakfast. On the walk home, he takes her hand, her left one, of course, touching the place where a ring might go. Elizabeth doesn't look at him.

 

 

 

"Is there a world, you think where we have something _normal?_ " Elizabeth asks. Booker's close to her, tonight, and he threads their fingers together under the pillows and closes his eyes.

"Maybe. But we can't get there."

Elizabeth moves closer. "Why not?"

"Because." He opens his eyes, tipping his forehead against hers. "We've destroyed so much. It's time us DeWitts started behaving." 

Of course he picks this moment to kiss her. 

Elizabeth has been waiting for this for longer than she realized. She melts into it, letting him do what he'd like because every second is gentle, asking for permission to move forward, move faster, do _more_. Elizabeth tilts her head back and Booker kisses her neck, fingers drifting over the fabric of her nightshirt and lifting the hem. " _Booker--_ " 

"Tell me if--"

"Everything is fine. I want everything." 

Booker looks up at her. "I wish I could give you that." 

"Booker, please, not now. Just--" 

He sits up, bringing her with him. Elizabeth gets up on her knees, barely able to look at him. He's so much bigger, in every way. Even his voice looms over her as he whispers to her, tells her she's beautiful, there's not need to by shy. Elizabeth slides off the bed, getting rid of her clothes and standing naked on the wooden floor. "Elizabeth." Booker reaches out, takes her hand and brings her back into bed. She starts attacking his clothes, because the disparity is unfair. He laughs at her eagerness, murmuring to her, "Slow down, I ain't goin' anywhere."

She looks at him. "I know that," she says coolly. He tosses his clothes onto the floor, drawing her in again and turning her so he can press himself against her back, his teeth scraping over the nape of her neck. "Booker--"

"I wonder if Madame Fabre just assumes we don't touch one another."

"Please don't say her name in bed." He laughs against her ear, deep and ugly, but she loves it. She loves him. It weighs on her every day that she _loves_ him and she shouldn't, and that it doesn't matter. It has _never_ mattered, except when it does. 

Like right now. It matters right now. 

His cock is hard against her back as he brings his hand between her legs, stroking over her clit and slowly bringing her off. Elizabeth suspects Booker could wait hours before he's satisfied. That he could drive her insane all night and remain perfectly steady until dawn. But she doesn't want that. She wants to take him apart the way he's doing to her. "Shh, _shh._ " He curves his arm under her neck carefully and Elizabeth presses her mouth to it, screaming into muscle and skin as she comes. She barely registers that he's filling her until he _is_ , and it makes her scream again, hands pressed flat on the wall as he fucks her. "Do you want me to--"

" _No!_ No, it's fine. It's fine, don't stop, _please._ " He nods and thrusts in again, slow at first. But Elizabeth isn't afraid, and of all the things they've been through together, this is nothing.

Well, it's _something._ But it isn't dying.

It's something completely new. 

Elizabeth looks over her shoulder at him and Booker catches her lips in hers, moaning into her mouth. He pulls out to turn her around, pressing her against the wall behind their bed and fucking her hard now, eyes never leaving hers. There isn't a single moment that Elizabeth thinks she's done anything wrong, not with the way he looks at her. 

"Do you love me?" she says, and she barely recognizes her voice. Would probably barely recognize herself at this point. 

Booker laughs, actually _laughs_ , a real laugh, something she's never heard before. "Don't you know by now?" Elizabeth moans and he doesn't stop her this time, letting her get loud and pathetic just before she comes. He pulls out, stroking himself slowly before she feels something warm on her stomach. Booker lays heavily next to her for a moment before he goes to get a rag, soaking it with water and coming back to clean her up. It cools her down and she watches through heavy eyes, suddenly the one being taken care of after all this time.

"Booker--"

"I love you. Despite everything that's tried to stop me." He kisses her, and she knows it won't ever be the same. "I love you, and if you'll have me, I'll marry you."

 

 

 

Madame Fabre digs out the dress her daughter was married in, a simple white frock that fits Elizabeth just as well. "Beautiful. Very beautiful." She comes through with her promise of a man who draws up the documents fairly cheap, and Booker negotiates him down a bit more, throwing in a pocket watch he collected as pay from his work along the way. 

In a small church just outside of the city, Madame Fabre gathers some of the other girls who work in the building and a few of the men she knows from Booker's work in the shops downtown. In a small church just outside of the city, Booker and Elizabeth are married, before strangers and before God, supposedly. There's a dinner for them, and a few gifts from people they don't know. Late that night, they return home with a very drunk Madame Fabre, who tells them she has missed beauty in her life, she's been _desperate_ for it. And she's so pleased the two of them have brought it back to her.

"So lovely, for Americans. So lovely."

Elizabeth laughs behind her hand as the woman heads to bed, letting Booker pull her up the stairs. "For Americans," she repeats, laughing. "We're lovely, you know."

Booker smiles. "Mmhm." He opens the door and kisses her neck, turning her around to undo her dress. "For Americans."

In bed, she straddles his waist and rides him, enjoying the way he looks at her. 

And there isn't a single moment of this that isn't right, she decides. There isn't a single thing she'd change. 

Later, he strokes her back and murmurs against her shoulder, "There is a world where we have something normal."

"Is there?"

"Mmhm." He tilts her chin up and kisses her. "This one, Miss Elizabeth. This one."


End file.
